


Drawn

by katiebour



Series: Arrow's Path [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Accents, Dancing, F/M, Food Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Intrigue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to <i>An Arrow Loosed</i>, and will feature Sebastian doing the Paso Doble.  :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Several weeks later..._

Kit raised her eyebrows as she continued to read the latest piece of correspondence gracing her desk.  

 _Years ago, I served the office of Seneschal to the royal family of Starkhaven. Sadly, they have been deposed, ousted by a foul usurper. I represent His Royal Highness, Prince Corbinian Vael, the true heir to the throne, and with your help, Maker willing, we will see him wear the crown of Starkhaven once more._

 _His Highness had a fortune of eleven thousand sovereigns locked away in the vaults of the Royal Bank of Antiva.  With access to this fortune, he can raise an army to retake the throne, but it is too dangerous for His Highness to simply withdraw the funds himself. This is where we require your assistance and discretion._

 _Simply send me the details of an open bank account in Kirkwall, and I will arrange that the funds are transferred to you. My King will then contact you to retrieve his fortune, leaving you with a hefty award. I must warn you, the Antivans will not consider the account viable if it contains less than 100 sovereigns. Please observe the utmost confidentiality._

 _Yours,  
Lord Achim Falk_

She snorted derisively.   _I wonder if this Corbinian even exists._   She tucked the letter in the pocket of her loose gown, resolving to show it to the Vael later.   _He'd probably be interested to know that someone's using his family name to try and cheat foolish nobles out of their money._

Standing up, Kit smoothed a hand over her skirts with a slight grimace.   _Mother and her gowns,_ she thought with irritated affection.  Leandra seemed determined to turn her scapegrace of a daughter into a "proper" lady, complete with teas and dresses.  At least the light linen of the bliaut suited the season, and she had to admit Mother had done well with the simple cut and wine-red color.

 _At least there are no ruffles,_ she thought with a rueful smile.  But if wearing a dress when she was in the city made Mother happy, so be it.  At least the teas with "suitable" young men had stopped after Sebastian had escorted her home several weeks ago, leaving her with a lingering kiss that shook her to the core.  She'd turned to see Leandra standing stock-still in the hall, a look of astonished delight on her face.

"It's not what it looks like," she'd said, blushing, to which her mother had immediately laughed.  

"I'd hate to imagine what it could be, then," Mother had teased, looking like the cat that swallowed the cream.  "But truly, dear, you could do far worse than the putative ruler of Starkhaven.  My little girl, a princess!"

As much as she'd demurred and denied, Mother had simply ignored her, exhorting her to invite Sebastian over for dinner.

She'd put it off with the excuse that Sebastian was busy arranging to let a house in Hightown, and indeed, she'd scarce seen him in the intervening two weeks since their interlude by the river.  He'd stopped by four days ago and given her the address of the rented property where he'd moved his few possessions, a quiet house near Fenris' 'borrowed' mansion.  

She was quietly glad that he'd taken a house so near the elf- the guard posted outside would deter anyone from bothering Fenris as well as Sebastian.  While she and the elf didn't always get along, he was a friend, and she wanted him to be safe.  She supposed that it didn't hurt that the Chantry was so near- even as a prince bent on reclaiming his lands, Sebastian was a devout man, and the familiar sound of the Chantry's bells throughout the day and night was no doubt a comfort.

She sighed, gustily.   _For all that Mother dreams of my being a princess, I honestly have no idea what to make of this- thing- between Sebastian and I.  He exasperates me, I frustrate him, and when we're not arguing we're lusting after one another.  What in Flames do you call that?_

Perhaps it was time to find out.  At least she was dressed for a social call.  Decision made, she stepped outside, wincing at the heat of midmorning.  The smell of the city in such hot, humid weather was- indescribable, she decided, wrinkling her nose.  It was no wonder those noble ladies walked around with perfumed hankerchiefs held delicately to their faces.

Striding across town, she nodded in greeting to the few nobles she recognized, smiled at the merchants selling their wares, and gave a sharp look to the scruffy fellow whom she suspected was waiting for a convenient mark to pickpocket.  

Even in a dress, her strong build was evident, and the thief held up a hand placatingly.   _I don't need a sword to kick your ass, pup,_ she thought smugly, walking up the steps to where the Vael family crest adorned a doorway.  She studied the crest for a moment- the pattern seemed to suggest two banks and a river, or perhaps a valley between mountains.   _Fitting either way,_ she decided, and gathering her courage, she knocked briskly on the door.

The officious-looking man who let her into the foyer gave her a searching glance- her clothing, though of excellent quality, was plain, and her hair was cut boyishly short, in sharp contrast to the noblewomen of Kirkwall who wore it in long and elaborate styles.

"Please tell Sebastian that Kit is here to see him," she informed the servant, whose eyebrows rose superciliously.  "Does messere wish to give any other name?" he said, snottily, and Kit felt her dander rise.

"Why don't you tell the Vael what I told you," she said with quiet menace, and watched him swallow nervously.  "Y-yes, messere," he said, and scurried off.  

After several minutes, Sebastian strode into the room, aqua eyes brilliant, a warm smile on his face.  He stopped suddenly, eyes taking in her appearance, raking over her form, and Kit felt a slight blush rise at his approving look.  "My lady," he said quietly, "'Tis lovely to see you here today."  Advancing across the room, he stopped a mere foot away, holding her gaze for a long moment.  "Won't you come inside?"  She nodded, and he turned to face the servant who stood discreetly behind them.  

"Edwin, please ask Susana to prepare refreshments for the Lady Hawke and myself," he said mildly, and the little man glanced at her before replying with a quick "Yes, messere."  When he had gone, Sebastian gestured to a small settee.  "Please, make yourself at home," he said, and once she'd seated herself he sat on a chair across from her.  "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked.

She pulled the letter out of the slitted pocket of her dress.  "I received this yesterday, and since it mentions your family I rather thought you'd be interested."

He took the letter and scanned the contents, face darkening as he read.  "What manner of man defiles my family's memory to steal from another?"  

"I rather wondered whether 'Corbinian' or 'Achim Falk' existed at all," she said.

"And that's the odd thing," he said.  "I _do_ have a cousin named Corbinian, and we did at one point have a Seneschal by the name of Falk.  But the man was let go when 'twas discovered that he'd been skimming funds out of the household accounts."

Kit's eyebrows rose.  "Maybe it really is from Falk, then," she said, "Perhaps the man's moved on from embezzling to outright lying."

They were interrupted by a small, thin woman with a tray of chilled wine and freshly sliced fruit.  "Thank you, Susana," Sebastian said, and the woman smiled warmly back.  "My lord, my lady," she said, "Do you require aught else?"

"No, thank you," Sebastian replied absently, flipping the letter over to examine the seal.  Whatever he saw made him scowl, and the little servant nodded and left.

"Is there something odd about the seal?" Kit asked sipping appreciatively at the chilled white wine, and he nodded.

"Not odd, precisely, but strangely normal.  That is the seal of our house," he said, "And my father was the last person to wear that ring."

"Wouldn't the Harimanns have taken it for your cousin-" she answered, racking her brain and trying to remember what he'd said about his family.  "Goran, wasn't it?"

"Indeed," he said, "Unless someone else took it fairst."  His brogue was getting stronger, and Kit nearly shivered in reaction.  

"But that doesn't make any sense," she said.  "And why would such a person send this letter to me?"

"There's just enough truth in this to be suspicious," he answered, "My family has accounts with the Royal Bank of Antiva- in fact, I've been in contact with the Antivan ambassador here in Kirkwall regarding the funds.  The timing of this letter is uncanny, to say the least."

"So- there's someone out there with your father's signet ring trying to get the Royal Bank of Antiva to transfer your family's money into my account?" Kit said, confused.

"Presumably they are unaware of your acquaintance with me," he answered, and assumed that with your family's recent return to politics that you'd be naiive or greedy enough to answer."

"And then when Goran Vael and his advisors go looking for the money, or you do, you find out that it was transferred to my family's account, presumably before being withdrawn?"  Kit let out a breath.  "Maker, what a way to set me up for the thievery of your family's fortune."

"And yours as well," he reminded her.  "Such a man would have no scruples about taking every last copper of your own as well."

"Leaving me without the funds to defend myself legally- or physically, if Goran and his advisors were to resort to less-than-polite methods to retrieve their coin."  She set the wineglass down.  "I don't like this at all, Sebastian."

"Nor I," he said, folding the letter decisively.  "But as it happens, I've an invitation to a gathering where Antiva's ambassador is the guest of honor, a week hence." he nonchalantly took a sip of wine, looking at her through his lashes, "Perhaps you'd care to accompany me, and we can ferret out tha truth for ourselves?"

Kit felt heat stain her cheeks at that glance.  "If you'd like," she answered, and watched him lean forward, toying with the stem of the goblet.

"If I'd like?" he repeated, voice low and intimate.  "If you're goin' ta be so accomodatin', _mo rùnag_ , perhaps you'd care to hear what else I'd like."

She swallowed.  "You have my attention."

He grinned.  "And you mine.  But actions speak louder than words, don' they?" he said.  "Perhaps I could show you, instead, upstairs."

He took another drink of wine, knowing eyes on her, and she leaned forward, setting her own goblet back on the tray.  "As you will, Prince Vael," she said, and they stood, together.  When he reached down and took her goblet from the tray, she raised an eyebrow.

He stepped close to her, a goblet in each hand. "'T'would be a shame to waste such a fine vintage," he murmured in a voice for her alone.  "Perhaps I'll spill it over the tips of your breasts, between your thighs, and lap it from you."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Sebastian leaned in, brushing a soft kiss over her lips, then said softly, "Follow me."

He walked up the stairs, down a short hall to a plain door, then turned and handed her a goblet.  "Hold tha'," he whispered, opening the door with his free hand, then turning to pull her inside.

Once they were in the small sitting room, he turned and locked the door deftly with one hand before pulling her into his bedchamber proper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that the Marchers speak Gaelic.  I mean, with a name like Kirkwall?  Plus there's always a reason for an accent, right?
> 
>  _mo rùnag_ is Gaelic for "my beloved woman/my little sweetheart."


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian pulled her over to the four-poster bed, the room plainly furnished with simple linens and utilitarian furniture, his bow hung on a rack on the wall.

He took the goblets from her, setting them on the wooden table next to the bed, then pulled her in for a drugging kiss, his lips soft and skilled, the lightest flicks of his tongue stealing the breath from her lungs in little gasps.

“Mmm,” Kit said, dazedly, as he pulled away to run fingers down her sides, skimming back up to tease her nipples through her dress. When he began to expertly undo the side laces of the dress, she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“You’re awfully deft with women’s clothing,” she said breathlessly.

He looked up from the task to give her a wicked smile. “Some things you dinna forget,” he grinned, freeing the last of the laces, then reaching to pull the dress over her head.

A moment later she stood before him in only a thin linen shift, smalls, stockings and shoes. He bent down on one knee, saying softly, “Lean on me.” She obeyed, putting her hands on his strong shoulders, letting out a little _eep_ as he lifted her foot, nearly unbalancing her. He slipped off one shoe, then the other, stopping occasionally to press a kiss to her thigh, constantly skimming her calf and thigh with his hands before untying the laces of her stockings from her smalls, sliding them down her legs before pulling them off.

“Sebastian,” she sighed, “You _tease_ ,” as his fingers slid under the loose leg of her smalls, brushing her curls and the juncture of her thigh and sex.

“Mmm,” he said, “If it’s a _tease_ you name me, then tease I shall,” he said, shifting, and a moment later he stood, drawing the shift over her head before pulling her to the bed. She reclined and watched as he sat at the side of the bed and undressed. She couldn’t help trailing fingers along that broad, tanned back, admiring the curl of dark red hair at his neck, the curve of his waist where it disappeared into his trousers.

When he stood and turned, unbuckling the plain belt he wore and letting the trousers slide off, she nearly blushed to see him hard and ready against the thin cloth of his braies. She looked up to see aqua eyes watching her, intense and pleased, and when he untied and pulled off the braies, she couldn’t help the sigh of pure _want_ that jolted through her.

“Like wha’ you see?” he asked, and she shivered at the sound of that voice, accent thickening, raising her own eyes to his, darting her tongue out daringly to lick her lips, invitingly.

“Later,” he said, pupils widening marginally at the unspoken desire. “Your mouth would undo me now, _mo rùnag._ For now-” He stalked forward, settling his weight on the bed, and reached for one of the goblets. He pushed her thighs apart, kneeling between them, and as she watched, he tilted the cup, spilling wine onto the cloth covering her sex.

She shivered at the chilled wine soaked the cloth, dripping onto her curls, and then he moved to settle between her thighs.

The first press of his tongue was hot against the chilled cloth, pressing into her curls, and he nuzzled, parting her under the cloth, sucking the wine from the cloth as she gasped. The hand holding the goblet tilted again, soaking the cloth as he teased with tongue and fingers of the other hand, parting her before lapping at her nub through the cloth, unerring in his aim.

She let out a broken cry as he lapped, fingers teasing the cloth-covered entrance to her sex, the rub of the cloth under his tongue, the wet of the wine, coolness soaking her as he poured, soothing the shock with the heat of his mouth.

When he closed his mouth on her and _sucked_ , she bit back a cry, the heat and pressure, suction, friction of the cloth unbearable. “Sebastian,” she whimpered, “Oh, Maker, yes-”

He made a small sound, and she suddenly realized she’d blasphemed in front of a former Chantry brother.

“Sorry-” she said, softly, and he gave her a lick before releasing her, pressing a kiss to her abdomen, spilling the last of the wine across her belly and breasts. As the rivulets spilled into the linens underneath her, his tongue chased them, lapping, sipping the wine from her skin, sucking her nipples into hardness.

“ _In your heart shall burn/An unquenchable flame/All-consuming, and never satisfied_ ,” he quoted, lifting his head to smile at her. “You’ve nothin’ to be sorry for, lass, the Maker fashioned us to take pleasure in one another. But-” he said, shifting upwards to cover her body with his, so warm, so strong- “Tha only name I want to hear from your lips is mine,” he said, before brushing her lips with his.

“Say my name,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Sebastian,” she sighed, and he circled his hips against her, teasing her with the feel of him, drawing a ragged sigh from her.

“Again,” he said, breathlessly. “Again, _mo leannan_.”

“Sebastian,” she moaned, “please. Please-”

He nipped at her neck before moving back down to pull her soaked smalls off, and in the next moment his tongue scorched a path from the bottom of her slit to the top. She gasped, burying her hands in his hair, head falling to the side as he pleasured her. When strong fingers pressed inside, she bucked against him, oh yes, yes-

She bit back her cries, mindful of the servants below, but his fingers, his tongue-

He lifted his head. “ _Mo chridhe_ ,” he said, voice rough, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her. “ _Cha ruig thu leas faiteas sam bith a bhith ort_ ,” he said, and she blinked, the liquid syllables beautiful and incomprehensible.

“What?” she managed.

“Be no’ shy wi’ me,” he said, brogue thick, “Let me hear as I pleasure yeh.”

When he bent again to taste her, she let go of her reticence and wailed, moaning and begging with each thrust of his fingers, the rhythm and pressure of his tongue. He brought her moaning and crying out to cusp, spasming around his fingers with broken cries of his name.

He kissed gently along her thigh and withdrew his fingers, moving up to draw her into his arms.

“Sebastian?” she murmured, reaching down to stroke his cock.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “As much as I enjoy’d our last coupling,” he said quietly, “I must ask ye if y’ve taken precautions so as to no’ get wi’ child?”

“Oh-” she said, realization dawning, and blushed. “No. I had my flux last week, so we’re safe, but I didn’t think-”

He nodded. “If we’re ta continue on, perhaps t’would be prudent.”

She turned in his arms and leaned on his chest, kissing him apologetically. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t even think-”

“You mean you didna come here to ravish me?” he said with a smile, and she gave him a shove.

“I think healers usually have a tea-” she said, “I’ll talk to Anders about it.” _Maker_ , that was going to be an embarrassing conversation.

“If you like,” he said, casually, speech resuming his usual correctness, “There are- other things we can do, in the meantime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _mo leannan_ \- darling, my love  
>  _mo chridhe_ \- my heart
> 
> Great resource for Scots Gaelic:  
> http://www.faclair.com/index.aspx?Language=en


End file.
